


Let the City Tip the Scales

by tulomne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 20s au, F/M, Loosely based on the Mandalore arc from Clone Wars, So kind of spoilerish?, it kind of deviates though so not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulomne/pseuds/tulomne
Summary: In progress, see profile for current word count
A long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away...Corruption! The end of The Great War also brings the end of a legacy. The House of Kryze rests in the hands of its heir, Satine. Once a front for various gang activity, ranging from drug cartels to weapons smuggling, Satine is tasked with cleaning up the more unethical aspects of her father’s hotel: The Sundari. But not everyone in her father’s empire is ready to change their ways. Can she extinguish the shady activity that brims under the surface of the Grand Sundari Hotel, or will she get caught in the web of the underground mafia?





	1. Chapter 1

Satine sits at her desk, overlooking the busy cityscape of Chicago. Despite the years of staring through the same glass growing up, she still feels small every time she takes time to watch the world below her. Even moreso now, with the entire Kryze legacy on her shoulders. She lets out a deep sigh. It used to be so easy. Everything was so black and white. But even then, with her father being the man he is, was, maybe her memories are more blurred than they seem. She pulls at the fingertips of her elbow-length gloves, rolling the edges with her fingers. It’s going to be an uphill battle, but she has to do it, whether she likes it or not.

The phone rings, stirring her from her thoughts. She answers it on the second ring. It’s her bellhop, announcing the arrival of her new personal bodyguard. She hates the idea of hiring protective services, but she knows better than to go unguarded. She tucks a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, fixing her hat so that only the edges peek out from the felt, and dons her coat. It’s a heavy thing, mink trimmed edges and certainly not necessary for the mild weather they’ve been having, but in a world where her only power comes from a family name, appearances matter. She takes one last glance in the mirror, checking to make her earrings and necklace lay correctly, before heading to the elevator.

The lobby is as busy as ever, but everyone pauses at her entrance, if only for a second. It gives her a moment of relief, that her name is still respected despite the lapse in familial power. She walks quickly, making her way down the grand staircase that encircles the main reception area, and heads toward the front desk. Beside her main clerk is a man, leaning up against the desk and talking casually. A freshly pressed, dull brown pin-striped suit. Shined shoes. A man with just as much a mind on appearances as she has. At her approach, he turns to her. Combed sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes. Clean shaven. Incredibly handsome. After a quick glance up and down her figure, he smiles, standing at attention.

“Ms. Kryze, I presume?” He asks, removing his hat. “You’re more beautiful than the rumors imply.”

“And you must be Mr. Knight.” She replies, extending a gloved hand. He takes it, bowing to kiss it lightly.

“Please,” He straightens. “Call me Ben.” Satine smiles, amused by his immediate informality. Ben smiles in return.

“Well, Ben. If you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a tour of the Sundari.”

She guides him through the main areas of the hotel: the ballrooms, the pool, the various dining halls and party rooms. It’s a tour that she’s led many times before. When she was a child, she’d greet diplomats from all around the country, and they’d smile and clap when she gave them a final curtsy. This time it’s different. She’s met with inclinations of the head, a straightening of the shoulders, and a quickening of pace. But her attention is focused on her new guest.

Ben’s eyes roam the hotel. He’s reserved, but she can tell he’s never set foot in a place this grand. She wonders how he was able to snag this job against the others. Satine had not been a part of the interview process, but she trusted in her associates to make the right decision. Ben seems to be as interested in the workers of the hotel as the building itself. With every new employee that enters the room, Ben makes sure to get a good look at their face. They end the tour in her office, after taking the lengthy elevator up to the top floor of the hotel, all the time Ben avoiding eye contact with Satine watching him from a few feet away.

They enter the room. He takes a few steps to look around while she shuffles the papers on her desk. The room has always been a mess, but it was an organized mess in her father’s eyes. Now it’s only the former. Books that could easily belong on one of the many bookshelves in the room litter the dark cedar desk, and various knick knacks keep piles of papers from fluttering away as she shoves the books around, still explaining to Ben the aspects of his job, his pay grade, and his expected hours of work. All the while Ben continues around the room, eyeing up her father’s old souvenirs from various parts of the countryside, as well as glancing down at her desk every now and then. Any look in her direction he redirects immediately. When she finishes her speech, she sits down in her chair, crossing her legs. He’s standing on her side of the desk, caught in the act of looking over her shoulder.

“Ben,” Satine begins. “You seem...particularly interested in my personal belongings.”

Ben looks slightly taken back by this statement. He saves face, licking his lips before responding. “I’m just trying to do my job, ma’am”

Satine’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think you are. Bodyguards keep watch over me, not my things. You’ve been itemizing everything in this room, you haven’t even looked my way, and I know it’s not nerves,” she pauses, waiting until he starts to fidget before finishing. “At least entirely.” Silence. Ben shuffles his feet.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, ma’am.”

“Where’s my bodyguard, Mr. Knight.” Her tone is dark and sharp, like steel. She stands, now too close for etiquette, her short heels making her almost his exact height. “Because if you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on here, I’m afraid you’ll find your ride back to the lobby a lot less enjoyable.”

The awestruck, confused expression Ben had been wearing shifts to a slight frown. He takes a step backwards, allowing a comfortable distance between the two. “Alright,” He concedes. “You’re correct. I’m no bodyguard. I was sent here on private investigation of your estate.”

“How  _ dare _ you.” Satine replies. “This is highly inappropriate and questionably legal. I don’t know who ordered this investigation but once the police find out that your antics of espionage-”

“-My investigation was ordered by the state police department.” Ben meets her glare and holds it. The shock hits her like a knife, but she manages to keep most of her composure. After a moment, Satine lets out a long exhale.

“Very well then.” She returns to her seat, while Ben walks around so that he stands on the other side of her desk. “I assume you’re here on behalf of my father, but I’ve put every resource I have into wiping my organization clean from crime. I have nothing to hide. Hardly in need of an undercover investigation.” She’s dealt with this before. Reporters, disguised as guests. The constant questions. There’s only so many ways she can reassure the public of her innocence. But even this is extreme. Satine tries not to take it personally, but she knows her father would’ve never had to deal with this amount of persecution and scrutiny.

“If only that were the case,” Ben replies. “The shift in crime we anticipated with Mr. Kryze’s passing never came. We have reason to believe that the House of Kryze is not as innocent as you claim it to be.”

Satine narrows her eyes. “All this talk of ‘we’. You’re no more than a hired dog for the state.” She feels the bite in her words and pulls back. Every useful lesson her father had taught her rings in her head. Appearances matter. Hold your tongue. Ben clenches his jaw.

“That may be, but unless you want a full police force in your hotel for the indeterminable future, I’m going to ask for your compliance.” A moment of silence. Ben’s face is emotionless, all the wonder and amusement from the tour about the hotel gone.

“One condition.” She stands, leaning over the desk towards him. He raises his eyebrows, taking a cautious half-step back to maintain proper distance. “I’m still in need of a bodyguard, and since you’re keeping up appearances, I expect you to do anything I’d require from an actual hired hand. However I won’t be paying you for your services, since it seems that’s already being covered.” Ben’s surprised expression turns to a grin.

“Tips are appreciated.” He chides. Satine huffs, making her away over to him.

“You’ll  _ appreciate _ that I truly am a pacifist, and that I haven’t inherited my father’s ways of dealing with intruders.” She returns, standing a step too close. She’s prepared. There’s a dagger sewn into the folds of her coat, a revolver hidden in a book on the shelves, but they’re for emergency circumstances. She wishes she didn’t have to deal with these things, but she knows better. If her father hadn’t died in the war, the work with the mob would’ve done him in sooner or later.

“I wouldn’t  _ dare _ do something to upset Miss Kryze. Couldn’t  _ fathom _ the consequences.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and Satine almost feels sorry for grinding her heel into his shoe as she pushes past him to the doorway.

The elevator attendant casts worried glances to the two of them as they make their way to the lobby in silence.

“Are we headed anywhere particular?” Ben asks.

“I need some fresh air,” Satine returns, still irritated. “And I should check in on something at the bank.” The door opens on the main floor, and they both pause as she waits for a response.

“By all means, lead the way.” He gestures to the lobby, and Satine exits.

The term ‘fresh air’ is taken with a grain of salt. The city is smog-filled, and the exhaust of the cars offers little reprise from the warm, stale air of the hotel. Satine walks briskly, both to get where she needs to go as well as force Ben to keep up with her pace. Ben matches her gait easily, but he sends her a pointed look once he catches up.

“I have weekly meetings with a financial advisor,” Satine explains, still maintaining her fast walk. “I could have reports sent to me, but I prefer everything done word of mouth.”

“You don’t trust your workers?” Ben comments.

“I know better. I won’t ignore the danger my father used to live in. He left a lot of enemies behind with his passing.”

They approach the bank. It’s just past noon, and the sun shines bright overhead. The sidewalks are packed with pedestrians on their lunch hour, and automobiles and horse drawn carriages grapple for space on the busy road. Before, when they were walking on the quieter streets, passerby would take a second glance at Satine, dressed the way she is, but here amongst the controlled chaos of midday, she’s just another face in the crowd.

A man shoves past Satine, knocking her momentarily off balance. Ben’s hands go to her shoulders, steadying her, his eyes following the path in the crowd where the man came from. Satine watches as the man disappears into the busy crowd, away from the bank.

Satine is thrown roughly into a nearby alleyway. Before she has a chance to comment on Ben’s sudden behavior, an explosion rocks the area. The carriage the stranger had come from shatters, sending shrapnel and fire into the street. Screams of pain and shock fill the air once the sound of the detonation fades. The two rush out of the alleyway into the scene in front of them. Bodies lay strewn in the streets. Blood splatters the steps of the bank, and chunks of brick from the surrounding buildings litter the streets.

Satine’s ears are ringing, but she pushes through the crowd in the direction of the stranger, ignoring the muted shouts from Ben following after her. Once the crowds clear, she spots him further down the street, now running full speed away from them. Ben is still trying to maneuver through the crowd, and she loses him as she sprints in the man’s direction. The stranger ducks into a side street, and she follows. It’s a dead end. The man turns towards her. She doesn’t recognize him, but the hard set look on his face hints that he knows who she is. He raises the revolver in his hand, and Satine freezes. He seems to pause, chuckling to himself as he brings the gun to his temple instead.

He locks eyes on hers, smirking. “Long live the House of Kryze.” The sound of the shot brings new pain to her overexposed ears, and she starts with the splattering of blood on her face. She takes a shaky step backwards, and turns to run before colliding into someone.

“Miss Kryze!” She has to crane her head a bit to look the man in the eye. He’s bald, with piercing grey-blue eyes, his sharp eyebrows knitted in concern.

“Mr. Vincent,” Satine’s voice is breathy and quiet in comparison to the cacophony earlier. Seeing the face of her associate at this time, under these circumstances, makes her dizzy. She takes a step backwards. The blood speckled on her coat has stained his light grey suit.

“How many times do I need to tell you, call me ‘Phil’.” He replies. “Are you alright? I heard a commotion and saw you running…”

“Th-there was a man…” She begins, turning a bit back towards the alleyway, then changing her mind. Realization dawns over her. She moves past him back into the street. “I think that explosion was meant for me.” He frowns, looking back towards the explosion site.

“Take it as a compliment.” He states after a moment of silence. “Someone very powerful is working towards your downfall.” Satine cocks her head slightly, not sure if the ringing in her ears has impacted her hearing. Before she can ask, he turns towards the chaos. “I need to make a call, I’m sure we can get some help down here.” He gives her a smile, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Stay safe.” He disappears before she can react. She turns back towards the dead man in the alleyway. She can’t find the power to look away.

“Miss Kryze?” A voice breaks her concentration on the body. She turns towards Ben, who’s finally managed to catch up to her though the chaos of the streets. He slows when he gets near, concerned look on his face. “Miss Kryze are you alright?”

Satine inclines her head towards the alleyway but stops, not wanting to get stuck staring at the body again. It’s not the first dead person she’s seen. She first stared into the face of death when she was much too young. But she’s still never been able to shake it. Perhaps it’s why she’s stayed so far from her father’s line of work for so long. Perhaps he had been able to shelter her from some aspects of his life, up until now.

“What happened?” Her thoughts snap back to the present, where Ben has taken his hand and placed it just on the back of her neck, lightly holding her head so he can look her in the eyes. His fingers brush back the hair that sticks out underneath her hat, and his thumb rests on her cheekbone lightly. She blinks a few times, trying to clear her head.

“He shot himself,” She starts. “Right in front of me…” She withholds the man’s dying words, hesitant to bring it up to the private investigator. Ben takes the pocket square from his suit and begins to dab the bigger flecks of blood from her face.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. We’ll get you back to the hotel. You can recover there.” At that comment, she comes to her senses. There were people hurt, people dying, not a few blocks away. She waves away his hand and backs out of his hold.

“No, no that won’t do.” Satine wipes her hand on her face, getting the rest of the blood onto her glove. She takes off, walking just a step quicker than the brisk pace she had taken to the bank, Ben following closely behind. “When we get back to the Sundari I want everyone on my staff preparing to take in survivors. I want the desk clerks calling all taxi companies in the area and informing them of the situation. I want the local authorities on the line so that we can establish the best way to avoid congesting traffic, and I want everyone else to be gathering medical supplies, have I made myself clear?” Ben smiles, nodding shortly.

“Yes ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for “make up a bunch of shit because Satine doesn’t have a canon father”.  
> Am I personifying Mandalore and making that her dad? Probably.
> 
> We’ll see if I end up retconning the 20s names. I am so lost at naming anyone outside of Obi-Wan, and even his last name is just ridiculous. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for naming Pre Vizsla ‘Phil’. Let me know your thoughts ;;


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to find that my Ben chapters are shorter than my Satine ones...

The next twenty four hours are a blur. The Sundari changes from an upper-class establishment to an emergency relief station in a matter of moments. Injured citizens are brought to the hotel for immediate aid before they’re taken to the hospital by the ambulances that are constantly en route. Some that are too badly hurt to move stay, filling up one of the ballrooms with cots and nurses who take up temporary residence there. It’s rough, with at least thirty dead and possibly over a hundred injured, but they work around the clock, Satine overseeing it all, while Ben tries to keep up with her quick pace.

He follows her around the hotel, taking care of minor errands when she manages to cast him a sideways glance and comment. She’s entirely focused, almost like a completely different person from the one he had comforted in that alleyway. She’s changed out of her mink coat and jewelry, only a dark, unfitted dress and simple shoes to move about easily. She’s constantly having to tuck her hair behind her ears as she whisks from one person to the next, coordinating fresh supplies and conveying information to the hospitals that are taking the patients from the hotel. He finds himself staring more often that he’d like to admit.

Ben manages to catch her alone for a moment late at night, while she’s riding the elevator to her office. “I’m impressed,” He begins. It’s their first informal conversation since the explosion. “I’m not entirely familiar with your business. Does the Kryze family own hospitals?”

Satine shakes her head. “I volunteered. During the War. I wasn’t able to devote as much time as I wanted, what with the hotel and all, but I did what I could.” The doors to the elevator open, and after thanking the attendant they walk into the office. Their shoes click loudly on the hardwood floor, a noticeable difference in sound compared to the cacophony occurring on the main levels. The room is dark, contrasting the brightly lit area of the lobby. Only a small desk lamp lights the office. Outside, the city lights glow softly from down below, and in the distance the moon reflects on the lake. Satine stands behind her desk, rummaging through papers. What she’s looking for, Ben can’t tell.

“Your managerial skills are impressive, no doubt.” Ben comments. “But you seem particularly active in this task. You could just as easily stay up here, away from it all.” Satine pauses. It’s not just that. The people brought in from the streets, it’s a nightmare. Blood and dismemberment and so much pain. He knows he’s had to look away too many times in the last day. Memories of war still dance under his eyelids. It’s something he’ll never be able to truly forget.

“I can’t. Not when there are people down there that need my help. I need to know I’m doing all I can, and I can’t do that from sitting behind a desk.” She slowly begins to organize the papers again. When she speaks, it’s slightly quieter. “I don’t know how it was over in Europe and I won’t try to pretend I did. I know I’m making a choice that you might not, given the part you played.” Ben gives her a quizzical look, which goes unnoticed.

“You needn’t apologize for my time as a soldier.” He says. “Whether you want to be up here or down there, it’s your call.” His words seem to fall upon deaf ears. She stops trying to find what she was looking for, leaning over, the weight of her body held up by her palms flat on the desk. She lets out a deep sigh, her eyes shut.

“Miss Kryze...” At that she looks up. “You can’t blame yourself for this situation. You’re doing more than anyone else in the area. These people’s pain is not your doing.” Her lips pinch into a flat line, and she looks away.

“I know.” She doesn’t sound certain. With a huff she pushes away from the desk, making her way back around to the door. Every trace of weakness, of fatigue, has been erased from her expression. “The next shift of ambulances should be arriving any moment. This can wait.” Ben catches her wrist before she gets to the door.

“Miss Kryze,” He urges. She stops in her tracks, looking down at his hand. His fingers encircle her wrist lightly, hoping that it will keep her from continuing on in at her breakneck pace. “What time is it?” She casts a glance over to the clock sitting on her desk.

“It’s a quarter past ten.” She replies, question on the edge of her voice.

“When did you last sleep?” It’s more of a statement. He knows she hadn’t had a moment’s rest in his brief time knowing her. Her expression falls from confusion to resentment.  
“From what I recall, I didn’t hire you as my babysitter.” She glares down at his hand, still holding her in place, and back to him. His grip tightens slowly.

“There’s only so much you can do,” His words are slow and soft, trying to make her see the stress she’s put upon herself. “You need rest.” There’s a moment of silence. Satine’s hands are ungloved, and Ben’s thumb brushes up and down the pulse point on her wrist. Slowly, gently. “Please, for your own sake.” Her eyes are wide as she holds his gaze. He can feel her pulse quicken. This is risky, and he knows it. Not only from an employment standpoint, but from a place of power. A mix of emotions flash rapidly across Satine’s face, before she takes a deep breath, pulling her hand away from his. He lets go.

“I’ll get a staff member to greet the drivers.” She sounds defeated, cold. She turns away from him, towards the door.

“Satine…” Ben catches himself. She turns back towards him, brows raised in surprise. “Miss Kryze-” He tries to correct himself, but she cuts him off.

“That will be all for tonight, Ben. We can reconvene tomorrow.” Her tone is devoid of emotion, but at the end of it all, she smiles. Her eyes look tired, and her posture, up until now rigid and proper, has begun to sag with exhaustion. Ben opens the door of her office. The lights are bright in the short hallway, and Ben squints before his eyes adjust as they walk to the elevator, waiting for the car that’ll take him down to the lobby.

“Promise me you won’t go back to work once I leave?” He asks. Satine smiles again.

“I promise.” She replies. The door opens and Ben steps in. The attendant waits for his cue.

“You know I’ll be able to tell,” He smiles in return. Winks.

“Of course,” Satine says. “Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, Miss Kryze.”

 

Ben stands just outside the hotel, the lights from the lobby casting long shadows into the dark street. It’s true that Satine hadn’t slept since they’d met, but he only knows that because of his own lack of sleep. He fidgets, knowing he should do just as he had asked of her, but something pulls him in the other direction. He walks in a swift pace, headed towards the bank. The site of the explosion had been too busy, too visible for him to take a closer look, but he figures the traffic has finally died down enough for him to return. Not only that, but Satine’s odd attitude towards the disaster makes him believe there’s something larger at hand. The sky is a cloudy black, with far too much light pollution for any stars to be seen. The streetlights are out, either by malfunction from the explosion or turned off because of it.

Although the bodies had been removed from the site, the area remains mostly untouched. Blood from the horse that had accompanied its unfortunate package stains the steps of the bank, and dark patches in the dirt identify where others had bled out. Ben takes care to avoid making footprints as he approaches the detonation site. It’s eerily quiet, no sounds other than the slight whistling of the wind that makes its way around the buildings. Ben pulls his trench coat closer around himself. The cool air of the night threatens shivers up his spine.

There’s nothing left of the vehicle that had carried the bomb to its final destination. He looks around, standing in the epicenter of the explosion. Sections of the surrounding buildings have large chunks blasted out from whatever else had accompanied the dynamite. A few of the windows are broken as well. It seems like all the evidence had died in the fire.

A noise puts him on edge. As quickly and quietly as he can, he ducks into one of the surrounding alleyways nearby the bank. His hand goes to his revolver, hidden in the pocket of his trench coat. He flattens himself against the brick of the building, trying to listen. He hears the shuffling of feet, the mumbled voices of at least three people. Young men, from the sounds of it. Ben chances a peek out of the alleyway towards the group.

They’re standing in the spot of the destroyed carriage, looking out at the buildings just as he had. It’s hard to see in the dark, and their faces are covered by the the popped collars of their coats and their hats. Ben knows the various patrols that survey this area, including those who go undercover. He doesn't recognize these men.

One of them walks a few paces, picking an item up from the dirt and pocketing it. The other two seem to be doing the same. Ben scans the area, trying to see what they’re looking for. That’s when he notices it, a few feet from his hiding spot. A piece of metal, lodged in the dirt in a way that suggests it came from the carriage. Ben watches the strangers from his hiding spot until they’re all turned away before reaching out to take it.

The motion causes all of them to turn. Without so much as a warning, the three pull their guns on him. Ben has barely a moment to duck back in the alleyway before the shots ring through the street. He takes off sprinting, stuffing the mysterious object into his pocket as he runs. He takes the first turn he can so he isn’t exposed by the time his pursuers catch up to him. Bullets ricochet off the walls of the surrounding buildings as he races through the backstreets.

A final turn, and he appears on one of the main roads. He’s blinded momentarily by the glare of the streetlights, and he stumbles through the crowds of people that fill the busy sidewalks. He lets the current of the evening commute take him away from where he came from, glancing back to see if he’s been followed. Ben sees one of the strangers exit the alleyway, and he ducks down to hide in the crowd. The two join the first, and they all hastily pocket their weapons, eyes scanning the crowd, searching for him. Ben hunches down, hoping that the three haven’t gotten a good look at him, and follows the flow of the crowd away from the alleyway. 

Ben grabs the first taxi he can hail, headed back to his apartment. He sits directly behind the driver seat, obscuring the stranger’s vision so he can get a closer look at the object he took from the explosion site. It’s a broken piece of cast iron, cylindrical in shape and heavy for its size. The unbroken end is rounded, and he guesses it would have been about the length of his forearm while whole. For the most part, it’s smooth, but at the broken end there seems to be some sort of engraving. It’s hard to make out in the darkness of the cab.

At the first streetlight they pass, the cab is briefly illuminated. The symbol is partially obscured from the broken end of the piece, but Ben can make out the highly intricate ‘S’ inscribed on its surface. He recognizes it. It’s displayed all over the Sundari. He halts the cab and jumps out of the vehicle, tossing a few coins in the empty backseat before he turns to run back from where he came. This object came from Satine’s hotel. And if that’s the case, he knows that explosion was meant for her. He knows that it was from someone who knows her daily schedule, who knows she’d be in that location when the bomb went off. And he knows that this person isn’t afraid of collateral damage. They put the entire city in danger just to get rid of Satine.

At the thought of danger, Ben slows. The gunmen. They were probably working for whoever created the bomb. They had come back to get rid of the evidence. And if he shows his face at the steps of the Sundari, so shortly after leaving, they'll know what he found out. He doesn’t know who he could trust. Everyone in that hotel is suspect. No, it's better to stay away for the night, stay hidden, until he can approach Satine in a way that won't raise alarm.

The cab is long gone. Ben stands alone in the empty street, only the light from a single street lamp for company. He turns the piece of metal over in his hand before pocketing it, and heads off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little PSA. I think these characters deviate a bit from their canon Star Wars characterizations. I think it’s expected in AUs that the characters might not act the same way they do in their respective universes. The Satine and Obi-Wan we know in CW would not be the same people living in the US in 1920. I only ask that you stay open about the differences, and I hope that I stay true to their characters despite them :)

It’s been a rough two days. Satine tries to hold her posture at the main ballroom table despite her exhaustion. It’s dim, the room mostly lit with candles, and the light glimmers off of her elaborate outfit. She wears a knee-length, shimmering dress with a deep ‘V’ neck, accompanied with a shawl of the same metallic material. The intricate, almost lace-like design looks like it’s spun of gold. The soft waves of her hair have been secured tightly around her face, although she catches herself still trying to tuck the phantom locks behind her ears.

She had been rushed getting ready for the evening. Most of the patients hadn’t been moved from the hotel until later that day, not to mention they still had to convert the ballroom back so that it was fit for its intended use. She swirls her glass of water, eyes scanning the crowd of happy guests. A commemoration, a celebration of Satine’s tireless work for the Kryze empire. She wishes she didn’t have to go through this charade. The last thing she wants is her name up in lights. She would have to remember to thank her staff for the support over the past two days. They had been the true heroes, not her. She tries to reorganize her speech in her head so that she doesn’t spend too much time on one subject, all the while keeping it as short as possible.

“Care for a refill?” A voice calls from behind. She looks over her shoulder. Ben holds a tray of glasses and a pitcher. He wears a black suit, the common uniform of her waitstaff, fit snugly against his frame. Satine grants herself a glance up and down before returning to his eyes.

“And for what do I owe the pleasure of your service?” She asks, turning in her chair to properly face him. He’s been out of sight ever since the night he made her take off. She hasn’t had the time to try to track him down amidst all the chaos, but it doesn’t keep him from occupying her thoughts. It frustrates her to no end, how he manages to stay on her mind despite her having every other issue in the world to attend to.

“Just keeping my promise.” He replies. “Making sure you’re safe and sound.” Ben’s gaze falls to her lap, where she catches herself running her thumb over her wrist. He smirks when she stops the gesture. Satine grabs her empty glass, offering it to him. He takes the pitcher from the tray and slowly begins to fill it, still in her outstretched hand.

“It’s about time I get something out of allowing you to stick around here.” The gold from her dress sends little freckles of light across Ben’s face. His eyes seem to glitter in the candlelight. He chuckles under his breath as he finishes pouring.

“Do you flirt with all the members of your staff?” His voice is low, placing the pitcher back on the tray.

“Technically, you’re not under my employment.” Satine replies. “Consider yourself special.” She winks.

“Hmm,” Ben hums as he turns to attend to the other guests. Satine watches him casually as he goes from table to table, acting no different than any of the other waiters circling the room. Every now and then he glances up to her table, checking in on her from the corner of his eye. She takes a sip of her water, wishing it were stronger. But the law was the law. For a brief moment she laments having to close down the speakeasies her father ran.

“Is this seat taken?” Satine turns, looking up to a familiar face.

“Mr. Vincent, a pleasure. I thought you were out of town tonight.” The man takes a seat next to her. He’s flanked by two of his associates, who take the remaining seats at the table.

“I was able to push my travels back a day. Couldn’t imagine missing your celebration.” He smiles wide, taking a sip of his water. Satine huffs.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this grand. I don’t have this kind of time to waste.”

Vincent chuckles. “If I can delay important business negotiations I’m sure you can take one night off to commemorate the hard work you’ve done.”

Right. She had forgotten about that. How was she supposed to run her company if she wasn’t even aware of when her correspondents were doing work on her behalf? Her mind shuffles through her thoughts, trying to remember what he was meeting on. An office building? An ampitheater?

“I still haven’t read your briefing…” Satine admits, drawing a hand over her face. “I thought I was running behind before the bombing, now I can’t seem to keep my head above water.” She feels her hand being lifted and placed on the table. Satine hears a clattering of dishes in the background. Ben must be watching. She opens her eyes, meeting Vincent’s gaze.

“Satine, I’m sure you’ll be alright. The House of Kryze isn’t going to fall apart because you took one night to enjoy yourself.” The man smiles. “Besides, we should be celebrating! We’re on our way back up! Soon we’ll be restored to all of our former glory.”

That word puts a sour taste in her mouth.  _ Glory _ . She’s only heard it muttered before the swing of a fist. Sitting in one of her father’s speakeasies, terrified, hiding behind the bar as she watched the scene play out before her. Brass knuckles against protesting flesh.  _ For the glory of the House of Kryze. _ She shakes the memories from her mind. Vincent notices her discomfort.

“Sorry,” He adds. “Old habits die hard.”

He stands, holding his hand out to help her up. “A toast!” He declares. “To our lovely Miss Kryze and all that she has brought to the House!” The lights turn on the two of them, and Satine is blinded for a moment. He looks around as the volume dies. “Can I get a drink around here that isn’t water? I know it’s Prohibition, but  _ come on _ .” The crowd laughs. Satine remains seated. He’s always been better than her at public speaking anyways.

Ben makes his way out of the crowd, tray of sparkling cider in his hand. He reaches Satine first. There’s something off about him. He holds her gaze with a severity that threatens his cover, before glancing down at one of the glasses. She slowly but steadily takes it. No sooner than she’s plucked the glass from the tray, Ben turns to Mr. Vincent. They meet each other's’ eyes for a moment too long before Mr. Vincent takes the remaining glasses, passing them around amongst his table mates.

“To the future!” Mr. Vincent’s voice is strong and loud. “Long live the House of Kryze!”

The phrase jars Satine’s thoughts, brought back to reality a moment later by the clink of someone’s glass against hers. She takes a sip. The drink is sweet and bubbly against her tongue. Her senses feel muted, blinded by the lights and drowned out by the applause of the crowd. She almost doesn’t hear the muffled gasp and the shattering of glass as one of the men at her table falls to the ground. She turns, almost in slow motion, and watches the last flickers of life disappear from the man’s eyes. His mouth is frothing. Ben is trying to talk to her, the crowd is gathering around. She takes one look at Mr. Vincent.

“Take care of this.”

Satine makes her way through the crowd, making a beeline to the elevator. She can hear Ben call after her, but she ignores him. The familiar lights of the lobby clear her mind, away from the spotlights in the ballroom, away from the candlelight sparkling off her dress. It pulls her out of autopilot, and puts her mind in sharp focus. She’s already miles ahead, working out how the next twenty four hours should play out. She makes it into the elevator without him, telling the attendant not to hold the door. She needs a moment to herself.

In her office, she sits behind her desk, combing the curls out of her hair in frustration. That poison was meant for her. How it managed to get into his glass instead of hers she isn’t sure, but at least she knows one thing: this isn’t something against the House, it’s something personal. A former rivalry with another gang, or an individual that had been wronged in the past. Her mind races through the possibilities, adding names and crossing out others from her list of subjects. All the while she tries to calm her shaking hands.

Seeing death has never gotten easier, despite how often she’s had to deal with it. Get rid of the body. Find out what you can in the brief span of time you have before it gets covered up. Mr. Vincent could take care of that. He knows her aversion to death, and he’s helped her many times in situations like this. Smile. Assure everyone that your resolve has not been shaken. There is no time for weakness, even in the face of death. Don’t slow down or your emotions will catch up. She almost doesn’t hear the door to her office click open.

The room’s lit the same as it had been the other night, and the light floods in from the hallway, silhouetted by Ben. He closes the door steadily, but it shuts with a little more force than necessary.

“What  _ was _ that?” It sounds like more of a command than a question. Satine doesn’t look at him, eyes still glued to the desk, arms crossed and leaning back on her chair.

“I thought you were an investigator.” She replies. “It seems fairly obvious.” She doesn’t have time for him. That moment, before she took the glass from his tray, still confuses her, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on him. He’s distracting. Although thankful, gratitude would have to wait.

“A man just  _ died _ down there. Have you no concern for your guests?” Satine stands with a huff, splaying her hands out on her desk and leaning towards him.

“My guests are more familiar with these kinds of situations than you think, they’ll be fine.” She replies. “Don’t act like you know what’s going on more than I do.” Ben reaches inside his jacket, and for a moment Satine panics, hand instinctively going towards the dagger hidden in the coat she isn’t wearing, but he pulls out an item and throws it on the table. It lands with a large  _ clunk _ .

“Do you know what that is?” Ben asks. Satine rolls the item on the desk, inspecting it.

“It’s a sash weight.” She replies, running the cylindrical object through her fingers. “For windowsills.” Her tone is clipped. She’s not sure where Ben’s headed with this, and she doesn’t have time for guessing games.

“It was found at the bombing site.” He explains. That gives her pause. “It’s from the Sundari.” She turns the item in her hand until the light reflects the symbol. Her head reels at the sight of the inscription. 

“No, no, no,” Satine mutters, setting the weight on the table with more force than she anticipates. She looks out one of the windows overlooking the city. What would that mean? That there was someone close to her, so opposed to what she wants to bring to the House, that they’d rather see her dead? Someone in her family, someone who’s watched her grow up? Someone who sees her as nothing more than a disposable heir to the throne?

“It makes sense,” Ben’s tone is cautious. “You stand against a lot of ideals that your business used to hold to. You’re changing the way people live their lives with the way you’re taking the House. Some might not approve.”

“No,” Her voice wavers, but just slightly. “This is impossible.” She paces, making her way along the bookcase on the wall until she’s near the door, Ben standing between her and the desk. He turns to face her, slowly.

“The corruption, the gang influence,” Ben continues. “It’s what’s made your family strong. Not everyone will agree with you taking that away.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know my family.” She snaps. She runs a hand through her hair, her other arm crossed in front of her, deep in concentration.

“Satine, this is bigger than you,” he says. “You’re going to need help-”

“I don’t  _ need _ any help.” Satine cuts him off. The entire family business was dropped into her arms the moment the letter of her father’s death came back from Europe. She’s pulled the entire organization up from financial ruin, all on her own. What makes Ben think he can do anything to aid in this situation?

“I can handle this.” She holds his gaze. Any comforting looks Ben had been giving her fade.

“Miss Kryze, I’m going to have to order an investigation.” Her stomach makes an unpleasant drop.

“You can’t do that.” Satine’s voice is shaky. “There’d be mutiny.” Her heart is ramming in her chest. She tries to explain, painfully aware of how broken she sounds. “People are still a part of this business because they trust me to make it safe. If we are infiltrated from an outside party that trust will be compromised. I know that we have struggled with corruption for a long time, but you won’t be able to determine the innocent from the guilty.”

She swallows, steadying her voice. “You’re taking a community who’s lived under oppression and accusing them of its casualties as soon as they’re strong enough to fight back. I won’t stand for you putting them in danger.” She concludes.

“There have been two attempts on your life in the past week, and you don’t think that counts as danger?” Ben says. He strokes the stubble on his chin, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Satine, but you’ll have to excuse me.” He makes to leave, but Satine doesn’t move. “Miss Kryze, you need to let me pass.”

“I can’t.” She replies. “I can’t have you turn my family against me and have hundreds of innocent bystanders incarcerated.” Ben frowns.

“It’s not going to happen like that, Miss Kryze. But I can’t stand by and watch anymore.” He scrubs a hand over his face. She acts in that short moment. By the time he notices the book fluttering to the ground, she already has the gun in her hand, pointed at him.

“I can fix this, Ben.” Her voice is steady, despite the tremor in her hands. Her heart’s still pounding.

“You don’t have to do this, Satine.” Ben’s posture had completely changed at the presence of her gun. His hands are up in front of him, eyes locked on hers.

“I have to. I have a chance to make things right.” She hates that she sounds like the one pleading in this situation. But she can’t have him leave.

“Adding another death under your name won’t make things any easier for you.” Ben tries again, keeping his distance.

“I’ve been dealing with the dead all my life,” Satine replies, blinking away her watering eyes. “I won’t let you ruin everything I’ve worked towards.”

Because it’s taken months. Days without sleep, calculating every move, taking small steps to finally make things right among her people. Closing down questionable businesses, making sure the families that were supported by them didn’t suffer. Reorganizations, negotiations. She turned everything inside out, all on her own, her parents long gone, and everyone else no closer to her than business acquaintances. And here’s Ben, crashing into her organization like a wrecking ball, ignorantly claiming something this widespread could be fixed with something as simple as a cookie-cutter police investigation. All he gets to do is waltz into her life and deem it unworthy, before disappearing onto his next case.

“I can’t have you leave.”

Something about Ben shifts. His hands fall to his sides, taking a cautious step closer to her.

“I won’t leave you, Satine.” His voice is soothing and quiet. “I want to help.” He reaches out towards the gun. Her finger tenses on the trigger, but she knows she won’t follow through. His hand closes over her own, the warmth of his skin stark against the cool metal of the gun. She lets go.

“Why do you care?” Her voice is hushed. “You got what you wanted. You were right. And after all the work I’ve been doing, it hasn’t changed a thing. I haven’t helped anyone.” Her eyes are trained on the floor. It’s embarrassing, to be admitting this to a stranger. Ben pockets the revolver before reaching out to grab her hand. Satine looks up to him. They stand less than a foot from each other.

“You opened your doors for hundreds of injured citizens, strangers, even. You work yourself into the ground so that your people can survive.” He pauses, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “I believe you’re trying to do what’s right. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” His eyes are trained on their hands. She loosely curls her fingers around his palm. “I won’t report this. We can figure this out on our own.”

Satine’s gaze flicks up to Ben’s eyes. She watches him for a moment, trying to detect any signs of insincerity. His brows are knitted in concern. Slowly, she guides his hand so that it slips around her waist. He follows her motion, bringing his other arm around her. She snakes her arms up around his neck, pulling him close. It feels so natural, falling into position like this. She can feel him relax against her. No doubt he’s in need of releasing his own tension. Ben traces small circles in her lower back, rough fingers catching slightly on the silky parts of her dress. She buries her face in his neck, not missing the sharp intake of breath when her face brushes against his warm skin. The weight of the last hour catches up to her. She couldn’t outrun it for long. She sighs deeply, letting her eyes shut for a moment.

“You’re putting a lot on the line by offering to stay.” She mentions. “You risk your employment.”

“It’s not so bad.” He replies. “I have my options. I know of someone in need of a bodyguard anyways.” She smirks, pulling slightly away to look him in the eye.

“Thank you.” He smiles softly in response. There’s a moment, where his gaze flicks down to her lips, where the hands on her waist clench ever so lightly, as if unconsciously. Satine leans in, letting her eyes shut. She pauses at the last moment, inches from his lips, until she feels Ben’s arms pull her closer.

They kiss, warm and slow. For a moment, nothing below exists, other than the soft lights from the city that light the dim room.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun shines brightly on the freshly paved sidewalk in front of the bank. Ben strolls at a leisurely pace, making his way towards the Sundari. The people walk about the explosion site as if nothing had happened a few short weeks ago. Life moves on. The city has no time to pause, to reflect. Ben’s running slightly behind schedule, although formalities like that have fallen a bit lax recently. He’s stopped at a bakery on the way, grabbing a few pastries as an act of forgiveness.

Ben considers the bag for a moment, wondering if it’s a step too far. True, they had grown comfortable with each other since their first few days together, but ever since that kiss in her office she’s acted with a sort of quiet reservation. Perhaps it was a combination of the events of that night paired with her rattled nerves that had prompted the action. Still. There have been moments since then, when she’s lingered in his space for a second too long, stared with a bit too much thought, but she always pulls away. Ben tries to keep his distance, but he can’t shake her from his thoughts. He finds himself having to restrict his own gazes and motions just as often as he notices hers.

There’s a bit of a crowd gathering outside of the Sundari. It’s not completely out of the ordinary. The dedication ceremony had been rescheduled to last night, and Satine had been able to address her people without any of the chaos that had occurred the first time around. She had looked just as dazzling as the first night, and it left Ben fumbling for his words and his throat parched. He’s entirely sure in their brief moments of interaction he made himself look like a fool. Ben comes back to his senses as he enters the hotel.

It’s loud, the commotion from outside continuing well into the lobby. He straightens his charcoal colored suit when he enters, removing his cap as he observes the scene before him. A large group of reporters stand on the main floor, in between the two staircases that border the lobby, where Satine stands at the top. She’s wearing her mink coat, finally clean of blood, and she stands with her hands splayed on the railing. The workers of the hotel seem tense, watching the scene play out while still attending to their duties.

“-and as I have stated before, the situation is quite under control.” There’s a tinge of exhaustion in her voice as the crowd of reporters roars to life at the end of her statement. Ben keeps to the edge of the crowd, next to the revolving door at the entrance. There are a few other guards, actual hired ones of Satine’s, amongst the reporters. They don’t do much, other than lowering any cameras pointed in her direction with a stiff hand and a hard glare.

“-Continuing on Mr. Vincent’s statement taken earlier,” One of the reporters manages to quiet the crowd. Satine’s face twitches. “How is the man that received the poison? Can we get a statement from him?” She visibly flinches, her eyes darting around the room. Ben follows her gaze, to the edge of the stairway nearest the reception desk, to where Mr. Vincent watches the scene from below. She gulps, trying to cover up the motion with a cough.

“Unfortunately, he is unavailable,” Satine replies. She hesitates, but continues. “He did not survive the incident.” The group breaks out into hurried whispers. Satine’s face falls, if only slightly. “I’m sorry,” she continues. “That will be all for today.”

She stands at the top of the stairs for a bit longer, casting her gaze over the area below her as the crowd begins to disperse with the aid of the guards. Her eyes meet Ben’s, her jaw clenching slightly, before she turns away towards the elevator. The crowd starts heading back out the doors. Ben looks to the floor, his fist gripping the paper bag of pastries. He turns towards the reception desk, setting the bag on the counter.

“Another time, perhaps.” He comments, leaving the bag there. Ben hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should follow Satine to her office or give her space. He’s shaken from his thoughts when Mr. Vincent approaches him.

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met.” He smiles, extending a hand to Ben. “Phil Vincent. You’re Miss Kryze’s bodyguard, correct?” Ben shakes his hand. The man’s grip is firm, military-like.

“Call me Ben,” Ben replies. Vincent’s eyes are locked onto Ben. “Quite the commotion this morning. I overheard you gave a statement?” There’s a twinge of emotion in Mr. Vincent’s face, but it’s quickly hidden.

“It’s truly unfortunate,” Vincent comments, looking out towards the emptying lobby. “I never expected poor Miss Kryze to receive this kind of backlash.” Ben watches the man’s eyes. Cold, calculating. Not reflecting an ounce of sympathy that he’s expressing in his voice. He catches Ben staring, turning back to the investigator. “After all, I was just doing what was best for the business. All we can do is to let the public know that someone is trying to bring down the Sundari.”

“Possibly, yes,” Ben agrees. “But I’m not sure if that’s what Satine would have wanted.” He freezes. He realizes his mistake, but retracting her name would only bring more attention to the informality. Vincent raises his brows slowly.

“What are you implying?” He asks, turning his body so he’s facing Ben.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ben replies. He doesn’t miss the double entendre in the question. It’s silent for a moment, Vincent looking Ben over, making him squirm under the man’s slate blue eyes.

“ _Miss Kryze_ ...” Vincent begins. “...would have wanted a competent bodyguard so that she never ended up in these situations in the first place.” He takes a step towards Ben. “I suggest you tend to your duties, _Ben_ , before your employment ends up _eradicated_. Now if you excuse me, I have a plane to catch.” Mr. Vincent shoves past Ben, exiting out the revolving door onto the street. Ben watches him leave. He casts an angry glare back at Ben before he disappears from sight. Ben turns on his heel, heading up the stairs towards the elevator to Satine’s office.

He knocks on the door before he enters. She calls him in, and he gets all the way into the office before he realizes he’s not sure why he came. Satine keeps her eyes trained on the large binder she has set on her desk. Her coat rests on the back of her chair, revealing a simple blue dress. No jewelry or other accessories to note. She must have not planned on addressing the public as she did. Compared to the commanding figure she portrayed in the lobby, she seems smaller, fragile. He stands for several minutes in silence, watching her flip through the pages.

“That night,” Satine breaks the quiet, still keeping her eyes on the words in front of her. “Did you know my glass was poisoned?” Ben clears his throat, stepping closer to the desk.

“I knew something had been done to it. I intercepted the waiter that was bringing it to the table.” Ben explains. “I never thought it would be so deadly.” He pauses, unsure if he should continue. Satine doesn’t look up from her desk. “I thought that he would take the glass himself, but not drink. I didn’t expect him to consider his employees so...disposable.” She seems to pause at the mention of her associate, but continues flipping through the binder after he finishes. He stands in silence, waiting for her to prompt their conversation again. It’s a bold move, to accuse Mr. Vincent, even if he did it as delicately as he could. He isn’t sure how she’ll take it. After a few moments of flipping through the binder, she looks up.

“Do you have the weight you found?” Her voice is even, composed. Ben reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the sash weight. He’s kept it on his person at all times, afraid that if he let it out of his sight, their only clue to the bombing would go missing. He sets it in her hand, and she turns it in her palm until the insignia shows. Ben stands closer to the table, watching her work. Underneath the Sundari’s symbol, a small series of numbers are printed into the weight. The binder, Ben realizes, is full of similar number sets.

Satine draws her finger across the page, landing on a set of numbers that matches the one on the weight. She slowly sets the item on the binder and sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She’s fidgeting, bringing a hand up over her mouth, then tucking it back under her other arm.

“Phil Vincent represents an office building in the inner city.” She explains, her voice soft. “This weight was delivered to that location and registered under his name.”

“Surely that doesn’t prove him at fault,” Ben counters. Despite his feelings towards the man, he knows they shouldn’t pin everything on him on a coincidence. And perhaps he doesn’t want to hear Satine admit it. She looks crestfallen.

“He was there,” Satine continues, still avoiding eye contact. “On the day of the bombing. I ran into him right after that man shot himself. I knew that explosion was meant for me.” Ben tries to think of something to say, but finds anything he could bring up falling flat before it’s spoken. “He knows just as I do that informing the public about our ongoings endangers everyone in the House.” Her voice quiets. “It would only make me look incapable of my position. That’s exactly why he did it...” She lets her head rest in her hand and breathes a deep sigh. Ben takes a half step forward, but reconsiders it.

“Satine?” He asks quietly, after a minute or two of silence. She looks up, quickly concealing her desperate expression. “Let’s go for a walk.” She says nothing, confusion still apparent on her face, but she stands, following him out the office door.

They exit the hotel, quickly getting caught up in the usual weekend traffic that makes its way about the city. It’s just past midday, and shoppers, families, and all sorts of different people flood the streets, moving at a brisk yet unrushed pace. The two walk in silence, keeping to their own slower methodical rhythm. At one point Satine steps out of the way of a passerby, pressing into Ben’s space. She slinks a hand around his arm, gripping it lightly to steady herself. She doesn’t pull herself away once she’s stable.

They distance themselves from the hotel, following the current of the pedestrians out to the lake shore. Far from the Sundari’s doors, the two appear no different than any other couple walking arm in arm. The lakeshore is crowded with people enjoying their weekend. The wind blows just enough to cause waves from the lake up onto the beach, and children play in the water, their parents watching close by. It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining, warm but not uncomfortable. Ben turns to Satine, making her blink away her dazed expression.

“Would you care for a walk along the Pier?” He asks. Satine smiles and nods.

They make their way down the park path towards Municipal Pier. The pier is as lively as ever. Hand crafted goods hang from the ceilings of the stands that border the walking path, and food carts fill the air with tasty smelling treats. Ben watches Satine out of the corner of his eye, hyperaware of her actions. They spend a few hours walking up and down the pier, Ben patiently prompting her when he feels that her head may be growing too crowded with thoughts. Her responses are muted, but warm. A slight tug on the arm towards a display, a soft sigh while looking out onto the lake. As the sun sets, they stand on the edge of the pier. The sun bathes their backs in warm light, as the horizon grows dark out over the water.

“I’ve known Vincent all my life.” Satine speaks for the first time in hours. She keeps her gaze on the horizon. Ben shifts, leaning on the railing, close enough to touch her. “We grew up together, after I moved into the city.” She pauses as the wind rustles their clothes, cold air coming from the lake making her shiver. “I should’ve known. And maybe I did. I just didn’t want to believe it.” Ben’s not sure how to respond. He’s still trying to figure out Satine’s exact relationship with Mr. Vincent. She looks hurt, seems upset about the circumstances, but there’s still a certain distance about it. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her say his first name without his surname following it, and the way he’s seen them speak has never slipped out of formality. But perhaps this is another one of her disguises. She’s almost too skilled at hiding her true feelings.

Satine shivers again, goosebumps prickling up her bare arms. She turns from the lake, headed back down the pier, Ben following closely behind. By now the sun has shifted behind the tall buildings of the city, and the streetlights are just beginning to light up the city. A small band has begun to play near the entrance to the pier. A singer takes the mic, singing softly into the growing night. Most of the people have left by now, but a few remain. Friends talking softly under the dim lights. Couples dancing slowly to the music. Satine pauses when they draw near the band, small smile on her face.

Ben extends a hand to her. He thinks about the paper bag of pastries. Perhaps another step too far. Another misjudgment of her emotions. Satine looks from his hand to his face, expression unreadable. After what feels like far too long, she takes his hand, delicately, and they fall into step among the other dancers. They maintain a slight distance, Satine keeping her gaze at Ben’s collarbone while he looks out on the rest of the pier. They spin in silence, letting the music pull their bodies along the floor. It feels so natural, so easy, just as it had that night in her office.

“Are you alright, Satine?” Ben feels foolish asking the question, but he’s not sure how to broach the subject any other way. He keeps his gaze ahead of him, watching the other couples and the band. For a few beats, she stays silent.

“I will be.” She replies. “I’ve always been.” A few more moments of silence. “I was born in the countryside. I don’t remember much, but I know I had a life before the House of Kryze...by the time we had moved to the city the corruption already went hand in hand with the business. It was always seen as such a great thing, to have that much power, but I never saw it that way. The things I grew up with...the things I saw as a child...no one should have to go through that. Suffering is so easy to justify with adults, but kids? They don’t understand. I didn’t understand.”  
  
“We can get so caught up in what we think we must do.” Ben replies quietly. “Is it really victory when you lose so much?” He chances a look down to Satine. Her mouth’s in a pinched line, the hand splayed on his shoulder clenching slightly. The song changes, a darker tune than the one played before. They slow their steps.

“I always thought Vincent would want to change for the better.” She continues. “He grew up in the same way I had. But he was always closer to my father than I ever was…” She trails off, pausing her steps. Ben lets go of her hand, the other still on her waist, hers on his chest. “Ben, he knows everything about me. And I’m right where he wants me. I don’t know who’s on my side anymore...”

They’ve strayed from the main area where the music is playing. The shadows of the shops that border the pier cover them almost completely. Up above, the stars have started to fill the sky.

“I won’t let him get to you, Satine.” Ben says, tracing his thumb up and down her waist. He pauses, worried that even this simple touch is unwarranted. Satine is so good at separating personal matters from her business, masking her emotions in favor of efficiency, but to Ben, it isn’t that easy. He’s tried to hold himself back, to control his emotions, but he finds it harder each time that they get this close. Has she ever gone out of her way to touch him? The kiss is a blurred memory in his mind. He can’t give himself the validation he needs. Did she reach out to him? Or has he taken advantage of her emotions every time on his own selfish accord? He pulls away, the jarring thought of him forcing himself on her clouding his mind.

“Wait-” Satine’s hand tightens on his lapel. “Don’t…” She doesn’t finish the thought. Her arms slide around to his back, pulling him close. She tucks her head under his chin, resting her forehead on his sternum. Ben bring his arms around her almost on instinct. Of course. Silly to let his anxieties get to him that easily. She leans into him. He shuts his eyes, allowing his heartbeat to calm before speaking.

“You’re not alone in this.” Ben says. “All the people you’ve helped, the lives you’ve changed, they won’t turn their backs on you.” A pause. “I think he underestimates you. I think he expects you to crumble under the pressure. But he doesn’t know what you’ve learned. He thinks he’s won.” Satine pulls away a bit to look in his eyes. She looks different, no longer fragile and chilled. She looks energized, awake.

“It works both ways.” She says. “I have his records, I know his secrets, his backend business dealings. I’ve got his schedules, when he’ll be gone, when he’ll be vulnerable, exposable.” Her smile grows wide. She grabs him by the lapels and yanks, pulling him down to kiss him. It takes him by surprise, and it’s over almost as soon as it began. She’s inches from his face, sharp gaze sending shivers down Ben’s spine. “We have to go tonight. He’s out of town. And I have an idea of where we can get started.” Ben’s still in a state of mild shock, his mind fuzzy with the thought of her lips on his own, but her eyes are clear and bright, and they pull him back towards Earth. He gives her a short nod.

The last traces of day fade from the horizon. On the pier, the band picks up another song, and the two disappear into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will every chapter in this story have a fade to black at the end? We just don’t know!  
> I’m super excited for the next chapter guys, it’s basically the entire reason I wrote this fic...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, it's been a while. I have every intention to finish this story, life just kind of got in the way for the past few months.

The lights are low, the music surprisingly loud for the circumstances of the location. The bar resides two stories underground, far from prying eyes and those who would seek to shut it down. It’s packed. A band plays up on the main stage, and waiters make their way through the tables. The patrons, as carefree as they seem, watch their backs. A glance to an accomplice across the bar. A hand coasting over a weapon hidden in their clothes. One can never truly relax in a place like this, but these days, it’s the closest you can get.

Satine watches the scene before her quietly, keeping close to the others that crowd around the bar. There’s a reason she tries to stay out of the papers: her name is far more powerful than an image could ever be. Everything she does is to help keep her likeness indeterminable. Dimming the lighting, addressing others from afar, never spending too much time out in public when she can help it. She doesn’t hide outright, but it’s the little things like this that keep that doubt in place. Her dress is unflattering, cheap and uncomfortable, but it serves its purpose. She looks no different than the other women in the area. Overly curled hair and thick, dramatic makeup make her almost unrecognizable from her normal, more elegant attire. Any of the bar goers that chance a look in her direction quickly avert their eyes when she looks back. It’s the perfect disguise.

She keeps her eyes on a few of the tables. The conversations of the patrons seem a little too hushed, a little too rigid to be here just for entertainment. The other women at the bar mingle from table to table, trying to get a free drink or night out on the town. Satine takes her time, making sure that she can interrupt the men’s conversation at a moment where she can get some information. She glances around the room. Ben is near, but she’s not sure exactly where. She hopes he’s keeping an eye on things that she can’t see.

Satine makes her move, following a couple other women as they make their way to the tables. They ignore her presence, apparently not minding the extra company. She keeps to herself, staying at the edge of the group, trying not to make herself the center of attention. One of the women, a brunette with strikingly bright lipstick, deposits herself into the lap of one of the men. The others crowd around the table, and the men’s conversation stalls.

She introduces herself, a fake name of course. His is forgettable but his face handsome, minus the seedy expression in his eyes. She knows this part well. Smile. Listen. It’s all about small gestures. A hand placed delicately on the back of his chair. A subtle push into his space as she gets a closer look at his watch. Try to ignore the way he’s looking at her. After all, this feeling of control is only surface level, she knows they’d take what they want, given the chance. It’s terrifying, and she hates it.

The conversation progresses. The atmosphere, the drinks, the music. Yes, she’s been here before, a few times. No, she’s not much of a dancer, she’d probably make a fool of herself, but thanks for asking. No, she’s never met Mr. Vincent, but she’s heard of him, she thinks. His job is interesting, can he tell her more? No? Oh, why not? Secret business, of course. But maybe just the interesting parts?

He’s charmed, but her mind is elsewhere. Where is Ben? What do the other men at the table think of her? Does anyone recognize her? Her thoughts are spinning, mind distracted, and she doesn’t even notice the man walking up to their table until he interrupts their conversation.

“Now boys,” A familiar voice calls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the clock? I know these fine ladies are tempting, but remember your place.” Satine raises from her position leaning over the man at the table, and turns to face Phil Vincent. Her expression falters, if only for a moment. “Take a walk with me? I’ll buy you a drink.” He offers his hand to her, and she takes it, not ignoring how his hand grips hers a little tighter than necessary.

He takes her side, wrapping his arm around her waist and guiding her to a table in the corner of the room. There’s a press of metal against her side where his hand is. A weapon of some sort, concealed in his suit coat. A friendly reminder of just how little control she has. They take their seats in a semicircle booth in the back, far from prying eyes. Vincent pockets the mystery weapon and makes a gesture to a waiter.

“And our business clients?” Satine asks. He was supposed to be out of town. That’s why they even tried this whole operation.

“Taken care of,” Mr. Vincent replies. “Now, Satine. Do you really think I’d be so careless to ignore my duties while I investigate your little spying charade?” After a few moments the waiter returns with two glasses of white wine. Vincent reaches for his glass, taking a delicate sip before raising his brows at her.

“Have a drink, Satine.” He purrs. “Legality is such a temporary thing. You never know what’ll come to pass.” He smiles, but his eyes are ice cold.

“What are the chances that you’ve poisoned this glass as well?” She returns.

“I wouldn’t kill you _here_ ,” Vincent replies. “Not unless I have to.” he adds. She takes a hesitant sip. It’s sickeningly sweet. Across the room, the band’s picked up another song. The room carries on, oblivious to the tension held between the two of them.

“You know,” Vincent follows her gaze around the room. “I’m beginning to think that man, Ben, was it? isn’t just your new shield.” Satine locks her eyes on his. “And you say _I’m_ the one destroying the Kryze name. You’ve gone to the government for help. The only difference between what I did and what you’re doing is that I let the House know. You’re lying to your people, and you don’t deserve the seat you’ve taken from me.”

“You think this is a question of _ownership?_ ” her voice is hushed, but sharp. “How we acted for the House may have worked in the past, but all it’s doing now is destroying the lives of our people. I _refuse_ to let you make this about something as unimportant as claiming some hollow _title!_ ”

“Your title is anything but hollow. You can make entire cities fall to your knees at your command. Your people would do anything you wanted of them, but you refuse to take that chance.” Vincent glares. “I won’t do the same.”

“You expect everyone to just switch allegiances if I’m gone?” Satine asks. “You expect everyone to throw away their values that easily?” Vincent smiles.

“Your death will change _everything_.” He states. “Seeing such a powerful figure as yourself fall? After so much effort promoting peace?  It’ll be terrifying. You’d be surprised what fear can do to a crowd. They’ll be looking for someone to hide behind. And I will provide them that shelter.”

He takes another long sip of his wine, looking from her glass to her face. His hand coasts over the invisible weapon in his pocket. With a slightly shaking hand Satine takes another gulp of wine. He smiles.

“Your plan won’t work.” Satine presses. “Your rule will start to crumble just as easily as my father’s had.”

“That won’t matter.” Vincent shoots back. “The same invisible enemies that killed you will be the cause of all my wrongdoings. I’ll never be blamed. I’m invincible.” He finishes his glass, and with another sharp glare, Satine follows suit. The alcohol churns in her stomach unpleasantly.

Satine looks across the table at the man sharing her booth. He’s smiling, sitting back, waiting for her reaction. This is a man who has everything going right for him, a man who has never had to work for what he’s gained. This is someone who will do whatever it takes for power, even at the lives of countless others.

And Satine’s tired. Tired of playing by the rules of a game built against her, of falling into traps she can’t seem to avoid. She’s tired of taking three steps back for every one step forward, and tired of having people underestimate her desire to protect her people. Phil Vincent stands in the way of everything Satine’s worked for, and she won’t back down for anything.

With a lunge forward, Satine smashes the empty wine glass into Vincent’s face.

Everything happens quickly. Satine shoves the table hard in his direction, pinning him up against the booth, before making a dash across the dance floor. She weaves through the tables and chairs, headed for the exit. She doesn’t make it far until a hand clamps down hard on her wrist.

It’s the man with the forgettable name, his handsome features turned ugly in a scowl. Satine pulls at his grip and drives her heels into his shoes, but the man doesn’t budge. She can see the other men from the table moving in towards her. Vincent is still back at the booth, blood gushing from his face. Satine’s free hand coasts to the dagger she has strapped against her thigh.

Suddenly a blow knocks her to the ground. She’s freed from her capture, and she scrambles to her feet, looking to see what caused the commotion. Ben is on top of the stranger, straddling him, giving him a few quick punches for good measure. Ben breaks into a run, grabbing Satine’s hand and heading towards the door.

“Took you long enough,” Satine comments. Ben has a black eye, his hair in disarray, a cut on his cheekbone sending a small trickle of blood down his face.

“I was a bit preoccupied.” He replies with a smirk. A shot rings across the room, and they duck on instinct.

“Get those two!” Vincent shouts from by the booth, gun in hand, raised to the air. The crowd begins to rustle with concern, whispers of police raids rippling through the room. It’s a frenzy. Everyone begins rushing to the exits en masse. Satine and Ben hunch down, trying to disappear in the chaos. The stairways are clogged, panic rising in the participants’ voices as they try to make their way from the speakeasy.

The crowd spills out onto the streets, the cool night air a shocking change from the warm buzz of the room underground. Ben and Satine push through the others, trying to put as much distance as they can between them and Vincent’s men. Satine’s head spins, she’s never been much of a drinker. Her grip stays firm on the sleeve of Ben’s suit jacket as they sprint into the alleyways.

Ben takes them on a winding path through the backstreets, Vincent’s men hot on their heels. A quick turn snaps one of Satine’s heels, sending her to the ground. Her bones crack hard against the rough stone, but her body is numb to the pain, her blood pumping with adrenaline. She discards her shoes as quickly as possible and scampers to her feet, Ben standing between her and their pursuers, revolver in hand. They begin to run as soon as Vincent’s men turn the corner.

They find their way out on the waterway, the Chicago river just a few feet away. They walk out onto the bridge, the street lights blinding them momentarily. Where next? The Sundari isn’t safe. Does Ben have a place to go? Satine feels sick, the alcohol threatening to heave out of her system at any moment.

“Stop right there.” Vincent calls from the alleyway. Ben and Satine turn as his crew emerges from the shadows. Seven men, not including Mr. Vincent, who’s the last to step into the light. A deep cut splits across his left cheek, still dripping blood from Satine’s attack. He keeps his revolver trained on Satine. She tries to back up, to move across the bridge, but the soft click of a gun behind her makes her turn. Two more men stand on the other side of the bridge, boxing them in.

“Change of plans,” Vincent continues. “I’ll kill you now and tie up loose ends later.”

“You won’t get away with this.” Satine spits. “Don’t think my presence will be so easily forgotten.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.” He smiles. He aims his gun.

A shot rings out in the night.

Satine is thrown backwards hard, her legs hitting the edge of the bridge, sending her over. The water is cold, making her gasp on impact, taking in a mouthful of foul-tasting water. There’s a weight on top of her, between her and the surface. She pushes against it, bringing her face to the air.

It’s dark, she must be under the bridge. Ben lies in her arms, unmoving. Through the moon’s reflection on the water, she can see blood. She knows it isn’t hers.

“Ben,” She whispers. His eyes are open, but he’s unresponsive. “ _Ben, please answer me_.” His eyes are glazed over. Still nothing. His breathing is rapid, panicked, but his expression is emotionless. The current is taking them back into the open, where Vincent’s men will no doubt be waiting for them. She thinks fast. “Ben, I need your jacket.” She maneuvers around him, trying to tread water while removing his coat. She floats it on the surface, making it look like there’s still a body inside. She looks downriver. There’s a second bridge not too far away, before the river opens up to the lake. “Ben, you’re going to need to hold your breath, can you do that for me?” His breaths are ragged, almost wheezing. They’re almost out from under the bridge. She brings her hand to his face, trying to get his hazy eyes to meet hers. “ _Ben, can you do that?_ ” She receives no response, but Ben takes one long breath and closes his eyes.

Satine takes a big gulp of air and pulls them both under. She keeps her distance from Ben’s discarded jacket, and just as she expected, Vincent’s men open fire on it the moment it’s exposed. She kicks and pulls with her free arm, trying to move them towards the next bridge as quickly as possible. The water is murky and impossibly cold, and she can feel her muscles tire under the exhaustion of having to pull Ben along. Her lungs threaten to give out. She prays for the moment when the water will grow dark with shadow.

She breaks the surface, taking a gasping breath, Ben shortly afterwards. She’s still in the light, there’s no doubt that they can see her. Ben’s breathing is gasping and short, his eyes still unblinking. The blood quickly colors the water. The shelter of the bridge comes a moment too late, she can already hear Vincent and his men headed their way.

“Ben,” Satine whispers to the darkness under the bridge. “I’m so sorry I got you involved in all of this.” His expression doesn’t change, but the loose grip he has around her tightens slightly.

They make it to the other side of the bridge. Here the river widens to the icy waters of Lake Michigan. Her body seizes up, Ben’s weight beginning to pull her under. Satine’s head spins, the cold is beginning to make her head dizzy. She’s shivering, she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll last like this.

The blare of a siren cuts through the silence of the night. Satine turns back to the city, where a small boat rushes their way, spotlight trained on them. She lets out a choked sob. This is it. Her company will fall. Ben will die. All her efforts will be forgotten. She clings to Ben tighter as the boat turns to a stop in front of them, encompassing their view of the Chicago skyline beyond it.

She sees a man, obscured by darkness, appear on the edge of the boat. Her vision fades just as he makes his way towards the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is presented by the state of the United States political system and how I want to shove glass into more than a few of its representatives' faces


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time coming, again. This one's a bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it.

The last thing Ben remembers is water, icy and overpowering, surrounding him, filling his lungs, towing him places unknown. It’s incredible, he recalls, how something as simple as water can be so indomitable, so absolute. There’s an irony, that the thing so completely necessary to living could also be so life-threatening. He had tried to help of course, to save the others, but despite his efforts they slipped through his hands all the same. They were never trained for these kinds of battles. They had no idea what to expect with this sort of thing. The only thing he could do was cling for safety, waiting for the storm to reside for long enough that they could once again take their positions at their inevitable watery grave.

But when he awakes he isn’t among the trenches, so far away from home. He’s lying in bed, warm and dry and safe. For the time being, at least. The room is lit by a single lamp, throwing the walls in a swath of warm orange light. His limbs are heavy, his heart pumping slow steady beats. He feels like he’s ran for hours. Slowly, delicately, he pulls himself up into a sitting position. At the movement his side screams in pain. He looks down. He’s shirtless, and a large bandage covers his left side. He grazes his fingertips over the gauze and winces. That’s when he notices Satine.

She’s kneeling by his side, resting on the side of the bed, fast asleep. One of her hands is stretched towards where his head had laid, like she had been stroking his hair while he slept. How long has she been sitting there? Ben stands, taking care not to disturb her slumber. Every step he takes brings a new wave of pain into his gut. The muscles protest at having to move so soon from their injury. He takes the blanket off of the bed, drapes it around her hunched frame, and makes his way out of the room.

The bedroom connects to another area slightly larger in size. A couch faces a fireplace, and beyond a small kitchenette borders a dining table. The fire is blazing, and among the strewn papers and books at the table sits a man and a girl.

“Andrew, Ahsoka.” Ben calls from the side of the room, grabbing their attention. The girl, dark copper skin and bright blue eyes, rises from her seat, concern evident on her face. The man, however, doesn’t look up from the papers on the table.

“Good to see you back on your feet,” the girl says. “We patched you up the best we could, but the best thing for you now is rest.”

“Which you inevitably _won’t_ do,” chides the man at the table. He looks over to Ben, pale skin, blue eyes and messy, dark hair. “Given you were supposed to be _taking a break_.”

“ _An_ drew,” Ben replies. “I _am_ taking a break. From my usual business. This was supposed to be a bit more low key…”

“And I see that’s going well.” Andrew comments, eyeing Ben’s injury. Ben rolls his eyes, walking to the table and Andrew’s side.

“What have you found?” Ben asks. Andrew spreads several of the papers and news clippings on the table while Ahsoka joins them.

“We’ve been looking into Phil Vincent’s ties outside of the House of Kryze.” Ahsoka explains. “He’s been selling trade secrets in exchange for rival gang complacency. The Black Sun, the Pyke Syndicate, even the Hutt family. And it seems he’s been involved for much longer than we thought.”

“Like before Miss Kryze took control of the Sundari.” Andrew adds. “He even took measures so that she would take on the family legacy.”

“Probably thought she wouldn’t put up a fight with his changes.” Ben comments. Andrew nods in agreement.

“We have enough information here to put him away for good.” Ahsoka declares.

“How long have you two been researching this?” Ben asks incredulously.

“Since you started your investigation on the Sundari.” Andrew smiles. Ben rolls his eyes.

“You know she’s not paying me for this, right? We can’t continue working with only one of us getting a paycheck.” Ben comments. “Anyways, it won’t work to get Vincent arrested. Their entire network would turn against each other.”

“Then what _can_ we do?” Ahsoka asks. At that, the door to the bedroom creaks open.

“Ben?” Satine’s voice is rough. Her hair is frizzy and matted to the side where she had slept, and the remains of her makeup are smudged all over her face. Ben makes his way to her side quickly.

“It’s alright, we’re with friends.” He says, resting his hands on her shoulders. She’s freezing. He rubs his hands up and down her arms slowly, trying to bring some sense of warmth back to her body. Satine stares at the bandage at his side, bringing her hand to rest on it gently. His stomach twinges at the contact, and she withdraws. Ben brings a hand to her face, cupping her cheek and leaning to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m okay, I’ll be okay.” he reassures. Satine exhales sharply.

“I thought you were-”

“Shhhh, it’s alright.” He repeats. They stay like this for a moment until Ben looks over to Ahsoka and Andrew, the two pointedly not watching the scene play out before them. “Ahsoka, can you help Satine to the bath?” Ahsoka quickly takes her place by the two of them, extending a hand to Satine.

“Miss Kryze, you can follow me,” Ahsoka says. “Some warm water will do you good.”

“You’re too kind,” Satine replies, taking Ahsoka’s hand. “And please, call me ‘Satine.’” Ahsoka leads Satine out of the room, leaving Ben and Andrew behind. Ben runs a hand through his hair while Andrew rests his elbows on the table, looking expectantly at him.

“ _So_ ,” Andrew draws out the word. “Anything you haven’t been telling me about?” Ben closes his eyes and sighs.

“Nothing _you_ need to know,” Ben replies, irritated. “She’s my employer.” Andrew scoffs.

“That you were holding in our living room.” He replies. “Shirtless.” Ben sends a pointed glare in Andrew’s direction. Andrew’s smile fades after a bit. “She said you weren’t responding, when you hit the water.” Ben sits down on the couch, back facing him.

“I thought…” Ben is unsure how to explain it. “...I was somewhere else.” There’s silence for a bit, nothing but the cracking of the fireplace. He hears the shuffle of a chair, and then a hand resting on his shoulder.

“I’ll be in my room. Let me know...” Andrew doesn’t finish the sentence. It’s always been understood. _Let me know if there’s anything I can do, even though I know there isn’t._ He passes by Ben on the way to his room.

Ben stays in the main room for a while longer, watching the fire flicker through half-lidded eyes. His wound pulses with every beat of his heart, a gentle reminder of the night’s events. What time is it? How much longer until dawn? He should try to get some sleep. Ben stands, and after a moment makes his way back into the bedroom.

He lays on the bed for what feels like hours, unable to fall back asleep despite his exhaustion. His fingers trace the square of gauze on his abdomen, eyes facing the wall on the other side of the bed.

There’s a click of the doorknob that brings his mind into focus. He feels a dip in the bed, and a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Warm, delicate. He shifts to his back.

“Feeling better?” Ben asks. Satine smiles. She’s wearing a long sleeved button up and baggy pants. Probably Andrew’s. It’s all neutral tones and unfitted forms, and she looks beautiful.

“You were shot and you’re asking me if _I’m_ alright?” She replies.

“It just grazed me,” Ben counters, scooting back against the headboard so that he’s sitting up. “I think.” Satine smirks, but after a moment the smile fades.

“I’m sorry,” She begins. “I put you in danger. I knew it might lead to violence, but I wanted to be certain that Mr. Vincent was behind all of this. If I knew you would get hurt I would’ve never-”

“-I know.” Ben cuts her off. “You did everything you could. Don’t pretend for one moment that I didn’t agree to this.” He brings his hand up to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She hums, the sound quiet and warm.

Satine leans down, pressing her lips to his softly. The hand he had used to push her hair back goes to the back of her neck. One of her hands rests on his chest, the other keeping herself from letting her weight rest on his. The thought makes his stomach clench, his wound protesting slightly. His fingers trail through her silky hair, trying not to grow dizzy with the little circles her fingers are tracing on his chest.

A hard knock on the door sends Satine into a sitting position abruptly. The door clicks open a moment later, Satine tucking her hair behind her ears, blush bright on her face. Ben shoots Andrew a glare, who responds with a grin, until his expression grows serious.

“We should talk.” He comments, turning back to the main room, leaving the two to make their way from the bedroom.

The lights are dim, and through the window the first glimpses of dawn are beginning to appear on the lakeside. The fire is out, and the slight chill in the room reflects its absence. Ahsoka stands at the window in the kitchen, looking out onto the streets below.

“They haven’t moved…” She comments, frustrated. She’s wearing Satine’s dress from the speakeasy. It’s a bit large on her small frame, and she has to pull the straps up from slipping down her shoulders.

“Who?” Satine asks.

“We’re not sure.” Andrew answers. He’s wearing a suit similar to the one Ben had been wearing earlier. “We think they might have followed our boat back here.”

“We’re going to give you a chance to get away,” Ahsoka declares, beginning to tuck her dark hair under a hat. She grabs a jacket to pull over her bare arms. “Do you have a place you can stay?” Ben racks his brain, trying to recall any allies who might be able to temporarily take them in.

“What side of the city are we on?” Satine asks.

“North side.” Andrew supplies.

Satine nods. “I can get us somewhere safe.”

“We’ll give you guys a head start.” Ahsoka heads to the door. “Leave ten minutes after we’re gone. We’ll head south.”

“Use what you need.” Andrew adds.

“Thank you for this.” Ben adds as Andrew heads for the door behind Ahsoka.

“You owe me,” Andrew replies, smiling. “And not for saving your skin for the tenth time.”  
  
“-Ninth time” Ben corrects. “That business in St. Louis doesn't count.” He smiles. “I'll see you around.” The door shuts with a solid thunk, and they’re left in sudden silence. He looks to Satine. “I think he has a jacket that you can use in the closet.” Ben heads to Andrew’s room while Satine rummages through the closet nearby the front door. In a short matter of minutes they find clothing that covers their appearances sufficiently.

In the early silence of dawn they make their way out the back door of the apartment, down the cobblestone streets, and into the countryside. Once they’re sure they haven’t been followed, their stealthy strides turn to a casual stroll, the carefree, easy actions only a facade over their jumbled nerves and injuries. They hitch a ride on the first carriage they can find headed out of the city, hoods drawn and identities concealed.

The tall, crowded buildings of the city fade abruptly, and the two watch the sun rise over the open fields. Ben keeps his mouth shut, despite his desire to know where exactly they’re headed. The road turns to dirt eventually, their only companions the other horse drawn carriages that pass them by.

The sun is high in the sky by the time they make it to their destination. They pay their driver and proceed to pick their way through a small town, mostly farmers and traders from the looks of the residents there. The strangers are regarded with a soft curiosity, although none approach them.

Satine heads down a path at the edge of town, nearby a small copse where a river flows quietly. A small two-room house lies on the edge of the trees. She approaches with caution, and hesitates when knocking, but only for a moment. Ben can see her visibly gulp from his place beside her. Why is she so nervous? Wasn’t this supposed to be someone who could help them? Ben swallows his questions as the door opens.

A woman, similar in height to Satine stands across the threshold. She has sharp features, and her bright green eyes flick back and forth from the two standing in the doorway. She wears a button up and a pair of pants made from a thick sturdy material, worn from wear. She lets out an exhausted sigh, tucking her bright red hair behind her ears when the motion makes them fall astray.

“You know I’d only be here if I absolutely had to.” Satine comments. The woman meets her eyes.

“This better be good,” She replies, stepping away from the door. “Come inside. Quick, before someone sees you.”

The doorway leads directly into the kitchen, a small wood stove bringing some relief from the cool of the autumn air. A wooden table takes up most of the space, with a few crooked chairs spread haphazardly around it. The woman turns toward the cabinets above the counters, pulling an aluminum tea kettle down onto the stove. She takes a few minutes to fetch water and stoke the fire, ignoring her guests as she prepares the tea. Only after she’s produced three cups on the table does she turn to speak.

“Well go on, sit down,” She snaps. “Do I have to tell you everything?”

“Bo…” Satine replies, a sad affection in her tone.

“-and _don’t_ call me that.” The woman adds. “You have no right.” Ben tries to hide his wince when he sits, but her eyes catch the movement. “Now, what have you gotten yourself into.”

“Phil Vincent.” Satine replies. The woman’s eyebrows raise slightly. “He’s trying to take over the Sundari.”

“Of _course_ he’s trying to take over the Sundari,” She shoots back, taking a seat between the two. “I’m surprised he’s not the only one. You betrayed a lot of us when you stripped us of our traditions, of our rights within the House.”

“He’s been working with the black market.” Ben cuts in, shrinking a bit when her emerald eyes lock on him. “He’s been selling your family’s secrets to outside organizations. I have the paperwork.” She keeps her eyes on him until his nerves force him to look away. She looks back to Satine.  
  
“Who’s the cop?”

“I’m _not_ a cop.” Ben argues. “I’m…” A quick glance to Satine. Her face is unreadable. “I’m a bodyguard.”

“He’s here to help.” Satine adds. “He’s saved my life more than I’d like to admit. But what he’s saying is true. Katrina, this goes much further than you’d ever imagine.”

The woman - Katrina - sighs, running her hand through her hair in frustration. She trains her eyes out the window, taking a long sip of her tea.

“You know I don’t recognize either of you as rightful heirs to Father’s legacy.” She states. Her tone is devoid of emotion, no malice, no spite, just a fact.

“I know you’ve never agreed with the decisions I’ve made.” Satine replies. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye.” Satine bites her lip, pausing before she continues. “But Vincent is going to tear the family apart. He doesn’t care about us, he only cares about power.” Katrina keeps her eyes out the window, watching the local paperboy make his rounds.

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me.” She states, standing and making her way to the door. Just before she reaches it, a soft _thump_ lands outside. She opens the door to grab the newspaper before making her way back to the table. The headline gives her pause, and she turns back to the two with a smile on her face.

“Lucky us,” Katrina adds. “Sissy’s already made the afternoon edition.” She tosses the paper onto the table before taking her cup of tea back to the kettle.

“‘ _Kidnapped!_ ’” Ben reads. “‘ _Owner of the Sundari and Legacy of the Kryze family, Satine Kryze was taken hostage during a night walk with a fellow House member_.’”

“‘ _Mr. Vincent was at the scene of the crime when the two were ambushed, leaving himself heavily injured and her missing._ ’” Satine continues. “‘ _Sightings and inquiries can be reported to Mr. Vincent himself. Generous rewards to those with knowledge about the disappearance._ ’” Attached to the article is a photo of Satine. Grainy and unfocused, it provides little help to those wishing to identify her other than her blonde hair.

“It’s a ruse.” Ben comments. “The moment he finds where you’re hiding is when he’ll send his own people to kill you.”

“I’m well aware.” Satine replies. The room falls to silence. “Ben,” He perks up at his name. “Can you give my sister and I some time to talk?” Ben awkwardly shuffles to his feet.

“Certainly.” He replies. “I’ll just be…” he looks around, unsure where to go in such a small space.

“My bedroom is the next room over,” Katrina supplies. “Go ahead.” With that, he exits.

The room is just as cramped as the kitchen. Due to the lack of decorations and furnishings, Ben concludes that this is a summer home, or something of the like. Ben racks his brain, but he can’t seem to recall Satine’s sister ever being mentioned. Not in the press, not by her father. For whatever reason, she makes the perfect person to confide in during these times.

He spends his time walking around the small room, sitting in the bed until he feels too uncomfortable about it, and tracing the bandages under his clothes with his fingers. When the door opens, he turns all too expectantly. Katrina stands in the doorway, unimpressed look still permanently on her face.

“I have to go into town.” She states. “Don’t leave the house.” She leaves the bedroom door open as she makes her way back to the kitchen, grabbing her coat and letting the front door slam as she leaves. He steps into the kitchen, meeting Satine’s gaze.

“She’s going to help us.” She says, “We’re going to have to lay low for awhile. She’s letting us stay here until the dust settles.” She pauses before she continues. “Sometimes I think she would have been far better off controlling the Sundari. Katrina’s always been more suited for that kind of life. Of dealing with our old ways.” Satine traces the edge of the table with her fingertips, eyes trained on the grain of the wood. “But she’d rather have me on the throne than Vincent conspiring to sell us out to the highest bidder.”

“I never knew you had a sister.” Ben comments. “She’s never talked about in the papers.”

“She never wanted to be in the spotlight.” Satine replies. “She got to know the darker side of our organization better than I could ever know. When our father passed, and she saw what I had begun to do, she rejected it, and me in return.” Satine sits down at the table, and the conversation dies with the motion.

The next few hours pass in relative silence. Ben makes another pot of tea on the stove while Satine combs out the tangles in her hair. They don’t stray outside, but from the windows they can see the forest behind the house, and the town in the distance out the front window. Just as the sun is beginning to set, Ben sees Katrina approach down the road from town.

She opens the door with less force than her exit, the calm of evening laying a blanket of silence about the town. She wears a heavy cloak, drawn up over her head. When she shuts the door she takes the time to draw the blinds, blocking out any view of passerby.

“Here’s the deal,” Katrina begins, moving to set her bags down on one of the chairs. “You can leave the house, but you can’t go into town. There’s a well out back and enough provisions to last you a few months if need be.” She begins grabbing the few articles of clothing that lay about the room. A jacket, a hat, a scarf. “There’s a boy that delivers the city paper once a day." She continues. "If you need to send me anything do it by him. He’s trustworthy, you can count on him.” Katrina pulls down the hood of her cloak to remove it.

She’s bleached and curled her hair. Bright and soft, like cornsilk. The color of Satine’s. With Katrina’s hair the same as hers, they look almost identical. Katrina sheds the rest of the cloak, revealing a well tailored dress, something very similar to what her sister would wear.

“I owe you my life.” Satine says, resting a hand on her shoulder. Katrina pauses in her packing to turn to her sister.

“Without the Sundari we’d have nothing left to fight about.” She smiles. “Can’t have that.”

“Trust nobody.” Satine warns. “You’re on your own once you get in.”

“I’m better off alone,” Katrina winks. “I’ll be fine. It’s you that’ll have to stay still. Can you do that?”

“I’ll have to.” She replies. Katrina looks over Satine’s shoulder to Ben.

“Keep her safe.” She asks. Ben gives her a short nod. Katrina hugs Satine goodbye, and then she’s gone, into the cool night air.

And suddenly, a pause. The nervous energy that had preceded Katrina’s return has dissipated. The oil lamps send soft flickers across the otherwise still room. Satine stands at the window, close to the front door, as if she were to head out into the night herself. Ben fidgets from his seat at the table, unsure how to decipher the tangle of emotions she must be feeling.

For once, they cannot move forward. For once, there isn’t a next step. No amount of premeditation or planning can prepare them for what tomorrow might bring. After a moment, Ben stands, quietly taking Satine’s side. It takes a moment, but she reaches for his hand. Together they watch the last bands of light disappear from the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a name I felt comfortable changing Ahsoka's to. It's so very close to the Indian name 'Ashoka' that I felt any kind of modernization would essentially be whitewashing. Hopefully it doesn't pull you too far out of the story.


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